


didn't give me time to say goodbye

by kirigiiri



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Rare Pairings, Reflection, contains sdr2 spoilers, more sdr2 based than dr3 based, that's a whole other can of soniaki worms to open...some day.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 21:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20232433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirigiiri/pseuds/kirigiiri
Summary: (in the way that i wanted to)Sonia's not quite convinced that all princesses are granted their happily ever afters.





	didn't give me time to say goodbye

When everyone is granted their happy ending, Sonia is almost foolish enough to hope for a moment that she’ll be given hers, too.

She is a princess, after all, and don’t all fairy tales end with a happily ever after? The killing game that she and her classmates have endured has hardly been a fairy tale, has left her with wounds so deep she can’t be sure they will ever heal, but...she is alive. So many of them are alive, a reality that is so shocking that it nearly makes her dizzy each time she remembers it. Evil has been conquered, good has won out, and everything they believed had been stolen from them has been returned.

_Almost_ everything, she thinks, as she watches poorly concealed tears pool in Akane’s eyes. They’re gone in an instant from her view as she’s swept up and away, lifted as though she’s as light as a feather by Nekomaru, who appears to be wiping away a few of his own tears on the collar of his shirt.

(If she was here now, waking up alongside all of the others, would their reunion be so tearful? Would the sheer relief of seeing her again have Sonia lifting her up in _her_ arms, clinging just as tightly as Akane is to Nekomaru?)

The promise of reuniting with those who she believed she had lost shouldn’t make her stomach turn like this, she knows. When she’s seen clutching at her midsection, skin pallid and lips quivering, when she feels gentle hands come to rest on her shoulders as voices crowd around her to ask if she’s alright, Sonia has no choice but to lie to all of the concerned faces staring straight at her.

(She feels like she’s an animal trapped in a cage, being peered at, being watched. They’re all waiting, they can all tell, she can’t fool them.)

It’s the absurdity of the situation, she tells them. The tears that start to prick at her eyes are a result of how _overjoyed_ she is, she claims, as she moves a hand of her own to cover one resting atop her shoulder. She can’t even identify who it belongs to, at first, and then she’s turning and meeting Mahiru’s ever-steady gaze. All at once she feels even _more_ horrible, because Mahiru doesn’t even _know_ and Sonia is a filthy _liar_ and god, it feels like something is trying to crawl its way out of her stomach and up through her throat, clawing, tearing, _pulling_.

(She wants to scream. She wants to allow whatever is tearing up her insides escape. She wants to feel the scratch in her throat, wants to hear her own voice go raw and hoarse.)

She keeps her composure. There are a few tears shed, but nothing outrageous. Sonia is able to quell both the concern being shown for her and her own traitorous emotions as easily as one might flip a light switch.  
  
(Traitorous. The word has a different meaning to it now. _Traitor, traitor, traitor._)

She is happy for her friends. She is happy for _herself_. She is happy to be able to feel Mahiru’s hand move underneath hers as it drops from her shoulder, she is happy to hear Ibuki’s shrill voice rising up amidst all the chatter, she is happy when she catches glimpses of Gundham prowling throughout the room. She is happy even though none of it is fair, she is happy even when the one thing she can’t keep under control is her own instinctive search for _another_ face in the crowd.

(She isn’t happy. It isn’t fair. Why _her_? Why, of all of them, had it been —)

In her kingdom, Sonia had always done an excellent job of playing the diplomat. Problems were simple to solve with a routine; smile, wave, recite a few reassuring words until they sound so genuine that they cannot be doubted. It’s the same routine she must practice here, she finds, and though everything in her seems to recoil against the thought, Sonia does not allow herself to back down from the challenge facing her.

...How funny it is that she’s thinking of this as a challenge. An obstacle to be overcome, a task to address, a questline to be beaten.

(Sonia’s fingers had felt clumsy and awkward overtop of expanses of confusing buttons and arrow keys, but she had settled into the sensation when a second pair of fingers had come to gently brush against hers, guiding them along with the most patient of touches.)

Things are not as simple as they seem, she realizes with time, and although this is a far happier ending than she could have expected, than any of them could have dreamed of, there is still plenty to be tackled. It shouldn’t be the bad news that makes her feel relief, but it _is_. The unpredictable future, the sobering realizations.

(It means that no one can pretend that things are perfect without her here. Nothing can be wrapped up in a neat little bow. It means that Sonia is right, it justifies the way her heart still yearns for more, it takes away the heavy guilt she feels at not sharing in all of the joy surrounding her.)

They’re staying on Jabberwock Island. After what has happened, after what they have done, there are few choices to be made and even fewer words to be said. Though not everyone is exactly pleased with their fate, they know that there are worse ones waiting, and so no one complains. Sonia is grateful for everyone’s silent acceptance, unsure as to whether or not she could handle it if everyone were to bicker and fight. She feels so fragile now that she feels it could break her; after everything, the last thing they need is discord amongst each other.

(_Besides_, she thinks to herself,_ staying on the island is safe_. In a physical sense, of course, but in a way beyond that. On the island, Sonia can remember. On the island, she will never have to confront an outside world, a world in which she knows it would be near impossible to imagine her existing in, not in the way that she had existed _here_.)

Jabberwock Island is safe; ironic, the comfort she finds in it now, considering the torment it had brought her in another world, in another _life_. It’s a bit different in this one, she discovers after some time spent exploring, but it’s familiar enough to feel like a home.

(As close to a home as she’ll ever have now, she supposes.)

The biggest difference is one that Sonia doesn’t even think to dread. Returning to the cottages outside of the hotel after she’s spent her day patrolling the beaches to remember their sandy routes is merely instinct. Her feet carry her toward the little huts without any thought, and she even arrives at the door of her own personal cottage before she realizes.

They’re not the same, not anymore. The customization, the comfort, it had all been a part of the simulation that they had existed within. There are no labels outside of doors to indicate who belongs where. Sonia’s simply found her own cottage (and is it even hers anymore?) through her memory of the place.

When she swings the door open, she finds a completely average looking room. The bed is made, the shelves neatly organized with a few books, the bathroom clean and tidy. It’s not hers. There’s nothing left of the life she had lived here, once upon a time, no personal belongings or trinkets she had placed dutifully on the shelves.

One tiny realization leads to another, and the heavy feeling of her heart sinking low into her chest is painfully present when she steps forward to examine further. No, no trinkets. No seashells found on the beach, carefully plucked from the sand, swapped between hands and taken back to cottages. Nothing left of hers, and nothing left of —

Her heart stops sinking. It freezes in place, icy cold in her chest, so frigid it is almost painful. She leaves her cottage in a hurry, hardly paying mind to the look she earns from Peko, lingering by her own cottage, as she slams her door open and races along the dock. It’s only a few doors down, a few steps away, but Sonia moves as though something is chasing her, hot on her heels and ready to attack.

She almost expects it to be missing when she arrives, but there it is right in front of her, waiting, looming.

(She leans in, rapping her knuckles lightly on the door once, and then once more, harder this time. Eventually, she’s given no choice but to swing the door open, and her rapidly rising heartbeat can finally settle when she sees her inside. Not _waiting_, no, but perfectly safe, splayed out and snoring atop her mattress. It’s a sight Sonia’s sure she’ll never grow tired of, no matter how mundane.)

Her hand trembles as she reaches for the door and she feels like a fool. She’s been inside of her own cottage already. She knows what is waiting (or what _isn’t_) for her on the other side of this door. Still, she hopes. If not for her to be there, for something of hers to be left behind in her place. Something that Sonia can cling to. Something tangible, something that can ground her, something…

Nothing. She swings the door open in one swift movement, and she is greeted with emptiness. The room looks identical to how her own neat and tidy and _new_ one. There’s nothing to suggest that anyone has ever existed here; if they had, they’ve been picked up after, leaving behind blankness in their wake.

(Wires tangled everywhere, making a mess on the floor. Stacks of cases holding cartridges, discs, and on top of those guidebooks that were so thick that even Sonia was a bit put off. It was a disaster of a room.)

(It had been _hers_.)

It’s ridiculous, she thinks, that _this_ is what finally breaks her. She at least has enough control over herself to make it to the bed before she collapses; she’ll thank herself for avoiding bruised knees from falling dramatically onto the paneled wooden flooring later. For now, Sonia can do nothing but _cry_, heaving so loudly she is certain she can be heard by anyone lingering outside.

(She had always been good at putting on a face, but after Mahiru’s death, after Peko’s execution, after Fuyuhiko’s injury, she had been scared. It had shaken her so deeply that a quick recovery had not been an option, and so she had ended up here, nearly tripping over the mess on the floor before she could make it onto the bed and collapse, sniffling, into Chiaki’s arms.)

(How could someone so _real_, so _solid_, so _soothing_, be…)

She doesn’t care. She cries as loudly as she pleases. Now that she’s cracked, Sonia isn’t going to bother keeping up her facade. Not now, at least. Not here. Not here, where someone once existed, where _she_ once existed, not here where Chiaki had sat her down in front of one of what seemed to be her millions of gaming systems to do something as simple as pass the time with a controller held daintily in her hands.

(Sonia had fallen for her, she thinks, after she’d heard the light lilt of laughter that had escaped Chiaki after she’d failed miserably at her first ever video game. It hadn’t been mocking — though Sonia’s cheeks _had_ turned red after Chiaki had giggled at her misfortune — but rather, it had been genuine, emerging from a source of amusement, endearment.)

(She hadn’t realized what the bubbly feeling in her chest had meant immediately, of course, but she’d done everything in her power to make Chiaki laugh like that again after the first occurrence. Even when her skills started to sharpen, even when she began to understand which buttons to press and where to move, Sonia couldn’t help but slip in an occasional absurd mistake, just to hear that sound once more.)

It aches deep in her chest when she realizes she’s spilled enough tears to soak the pillow she’s leaning back on now. It aches because she knows that no one will _care_. This is no one’s cottage to return to, no one’s room to settle into for their first real night on Jabberwock Island. If she leaves this room behind, no one will come to change the sheets she’s rustled, the pillow she’s cried onto. Sonia could move herself here, take up residence in this building rather than her original one, and no one would do anything more than perhaps knock on the wrong door once or twice in search of her.

(Someone _had_ found her inside of the wrong cottage, once. It was a fortunate thing that her hearing was sharp, because when she had heard the sound of knocking coming from a few cottages away, Sonia had known someone must have been at her door. She was with Chiaki, awake late into the night, and the time had been enough to make her wary, but with enough encouragement from Chiaki and a promise to accompany her, Sonia had eventually been brave enough to poke her head outside.)

(She caught sight of Ibuki at her door just in time. The musician had been turning around, ready to retreat to her own cottage, her head turning away from Sonia’s door and far enough to the side to see two heads hovering outside of the doorframe of Chiaki’s cottage. She’d resembled a deer in the headlights, briefly, an odd expression for the usually chipper girl. One look at the panic and fear on her face had been enough to earn Ibuki an invitation inside from Chiaki, and soon enough, all three of them had piled onto one bed.)

(They were all scared, Sonia had realized, all terrified of what was to come. Ibuki, someone usually so brash and bold, tugged at the ends of her hair with jittery fingers as she admitted that she’d gone looking for Sonia because she hadn’t been able to get a minute’s rest on her own. The stark honesty and reality of what Ibuki had confessed had been enough to spark up Sonia’s own fears, and she’d even seen something in Chiaki’s gaze waver.)

(Chiaki, who had been brave for her in moments when she couldn’t manage. Chiaki, who had dutifully sat beside her and done her best to listen to Sonia’s extensive tangents despite her body urging her to fall asleep. Chiaki, who had held Sonia in her arms, so close that she could feel her _heartbeat_, could count the rhythm of it.)

Chiaki, who she had lost. Chiaki, who was not coming back. Chiaki, who this cottage once belonged to, somewhere, somehow, in a world that neither of them would ever return to. Chiaki, who had sacrificed everything, who had given herself up for hope, who…

Who Sonia had _loved_, who she couldn’t tear out of her heart even now, even when she knew that there was no chance of a happy ending in which they would be united. This was no fairy tale. There was no happily ever after. Sonia was no princess, not anymore. She was alone and she was afraid, and there was no one here to hold her in their arms this time, to chase the fear away. There was nothing to be afraid of except for the reality that she had been left behind in. The life she would now go on living.

The thought comes easily to her; she cannot do this. She _cannot_ go on, cannot pretend, cannot just forget and act as though being granted the return of almost everyone is enough. It’s selfish, it’s horrible, she should be grateful for what she has, but being grateful is so incredibly difficult when this is not what she wants. It is so incredibly difficult because each time she starts to feel as though she can be content with being given back Mahiru, Peko, Ibuki, Hiyoko, Mikan, Gundham, everyone who she _thought_ was gone, she feels the loss of Chiaki so physically that it hurts. She has to realize time and time again that this isn’t everything she wants, has to swallow down the bittersweet reality of this ending.

She doesn’t want to. She wants her back. She wants to fix everything that went wrong. She wants to return so that she can at least say goodbye, _wants_…

She wants a million things that she knows she cannot have.

(She’d asked Chiaki, once, if she wanted to leave the island. She had been expecting a swift answer, an obvious yes, and had been surprised by her hesitation. She’d been even more surprised when Chiaki had turned to her and smiled so serenely, when she’d shaken her head and when she’d looked into Sonia’s eyes and told her that everything she wanted was already on the island.)

(She had explained, of course, that she didn’t want the killing, the suffering, the trials and the torment. Perhaps Sonia would have been able to assume such a thing herself, had she not been so desperately focused on the possibility of Chiaki’s gaze returning to hers to meet her eyes again, her heartbeat pounding out of her chest.)

Before she realizes it, the sun has gone down. It’s only when Sonia’s gaze drifts to the window and comes to rest on the sight of the darkened sky that she realizes how much time has gone by.

(Had she been waiting for a nighttime announcement? Was she glad she’d never hear one again, or was there some part of her longing for it?)

Her tears are gone now, all dried up. The spot on the pillow has vanished, just as all traces of Chiaki have vanished from this cottage. It’s not a realization that she has — she already knows there’s nothing left here, knows there’s nothing in her own cottage — but the memory of it brings back the tightness in her chest, and for a moment she feels as though she could cry again.

But she doesn’t cry. Instead, she falls asleep, drifting away before she can even think to move. It’s odd, really, because she hadn’t _felt_ tired, and yet her body seems determined to carry her away from all of this. If she was in the right state of mind, perhaps she would be grateful for it, for the peace that sleep brings, but the last thought that echoes in her mind is not one of relief.

(The thought is of Chiaki, of her lying here beside her on this bed. Though she had always had trouble with falling asleep too easily, nighttime had held the moments in which she’d seemed most awake, alive. Sonia would force her heavy eyes to remain open as Chiaki chattered through the darkness, refusing sleep its hold on her just so that she could continue to breathe beside her. She would listen, although she often didn’t understand, as Chiaki rambled about all the games she’d played, all the quests she’d conquered.)

(Those shared moments had been some of the best on the island, had been the ones Sonia would replay in her mind when things became dire, drastic, unimaginably horrible. They would comfort her when nothing else could, the knowledge that she still had Chiaki soothing her like the gentle touch of a lullaby.)

When she wakes in the early hours of the morning, the first thing that Sonia is aware of is that she slept _well_. No stirring or shaking in the night, no waking up with a jolt to her heart each time she thought she heard something dwelling outside, waiting, watching, prowling.

The second thing that she is aware of are the noises coming from just outside of the cottage.

It’s nothing like the noises that used to frighten her. There are voices, not overtly loud but certainly not hushed with secrecy. It takes a few moments for her sleep addled brain to be able to identify just who is speaking, but eventually she picks out Mahiru’s voice alongside another. Curiosity fuels her to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, to stand and drowsily shuffle toward the door.

She should have realized, really, that being able to distinguish Mahiru’s voice meant that the photographer was closer than she expected.

When Sonia swings the cottage door open, it only makes it a short distance before colliding with something solid. There’s a muffled grunt, and as Sonia steps outside and peers around the door, she finds Mahiru pressed against the opposite side, shielding her face with an outstretched hand. Luckily, the door only seems to have collided with her body, though her nose is still scrunched up as if she’s anticipating the shock of it slamming her in the face. A few paces behind her is Hiyoko, glaring pointedly up at Sonia, a stack of something clutched tightly in her arms.

Sonia is immediately apologetic before she grows to be curious, but once she has a few frantic apologies accounted for, she has time to wonder exactly why Mahiru is _here_, of all places. Hiyoko, too, though she can only assume that she must have followed Mahiru — they’ve been inseparable since waking up. She’s certain that Mahiru is wondering the same thing about her presence here, and though _she_ is far too polite to ask, Sonia has no trouble with doing so. She ponders whether or not Mahiru remembers who this cottage belonged to, whether she’s here on accident or on purpose, if —

When she sees what Mahiru is holding up in her hand, Sonia nearly gasps. She brings trembling fingers up to her lips, feels the ghost of her own touch across them, and when they move to brush across her own cheeks, she’s unsurprised to feel the dampness of tears already wetting them. It’s not the same, not exactly how it had been, but resting in Mahiru’s raised hand is a labeled plaque.

_Chiaki Nanami_, it reads, and beside her name sits a taped on sketch of her likeness.

Mahiru offers up an apology this time, rolling her shoulders in a nervous shrug as she proclaims that she’s no artist — _wrong_, Sonia thinks — and that she’d been able to use pictures for everyone else — yes, Sonia remembers her taking them just a day or so prior, remembers doing her best to offer up a convincing smile for the camera despite not knowing what the purpose of the photo would be — but Chiaki’s nameplate had presented a unique challenge. She’d sketched her up, then, doing her best to provide a portrait that resembled her with the limited memories she had. It wasn’t as polished as the others, Mahiru claims, making Hiyoko demonstrate by holding up one of the nameplates she has in her arms, but it’s _something_.

Sonia’s arms are around Mahiru in an instant, tears still welling up in her eyes. She has the dignity to avoid outright sobbing onto the other girl’s shoulder, but pulling herself together proves to be quite the challenge.

She can feel Hiyoko watching her as she clings to Mahiru, her eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled, but she doesn’t _care_. Hiyoko is here alongside Mahiru, carrying the nameplates the photographer has crafted with surprising tenderness, and no amount of snide comments or eye rolls can convince Sonia that Hiyoko doesn’t care deep down. Mahiru is here, behaving as thoughtfully as she always has, but Sonia never could have imagined _this_, cannot express in words how much it means to her.

When she finally collects herself, wiping tears away and sniffling and speaking in a wobbly voice, Mahiru offers her the nameplate in her hand. Sonia holds it for a moment, so delicately that it hardly feels like it’s in her hands, and runs her thumb over the engraved text, taking the time to feel each and every letter. Mahiru does not rush her. Even Hiyoko is quiet. They wait patiently for her, and once she reaches the last letter in Chiaki’s name, Sonia moves to raise the nameplate to the door.

Mahiru steps in to help her align it, and from a distance Hiyoko judges their handiwork, finally piping up with sharply spoken instructions — down, down a bit _more_, no, that’s _too_ far down — and eventually, they secure the nameplate in place.

It’s such a minuscule difference, Sonia knows. Nothing but a nameplate. This can’t change what has happened, what transpired on this island in some other far off and twisted reality. And yet. Her chest feels lighter as her gaze comes to rest upon it. There’s still a certain sheen to her eyes, tears that still threaten to fall, a certain tightness wrapping itself around her throat when she speaks, but when she turns away from the nameplate to thank Mahiru — and to thank Hiyoko, too, despite the shorter girl’s protests that this was all _Mahiru’s_ idea — Sonia feels, for the first time since the killing game has ended, that perhaps things will be alright.

None of them can bring her back. Chiaki is gone. It’s a fact that Sonia will have to face each and every day, a fact that she doubts will ever stop hurting, but maybe, maybe, it is a fact that she will one day be able to accept. She has no choice in what has happened, in Chiaki’s fate. There is nothing that she can do to change it, nothing any of them can do to alter the outcome they’ve been given, but when Mahiru waves goodbye, when Hiyoko goes trailing after her, when Sonia watches them head off to the next cottage with nameplates in hand, she realizes that there is one thing that they can all do.

They can remember. They can keep Chiaki in their minds as she always was; brave, selfless, a hero who gave herself up for them, for the hope she held for their future. Sonia is not the only one who has lost her, and she is not the only one who will recall the pain of it, just as she is not the only one who will remember her.

It is difficult. It is heavy. It will feel nearly impossible, continuing on without her here, but when Sonia imagines her now, she doesn’t dwell on the past, on all the mistakes, all the regrets and wishes and sorrow. She knows what she must do, what Chiaki would want for her.

She will be strong, just as strong as Chiaki always was, and she will never forget. She will continue on, she will grow, she will not put to waste the sacrifice that Chiaki has made for them.

(She has found hope in the ending she has been handed. She will turn it into her own happily ever after.)

**Author's Note:**

> title from pigeon by cavetown!
> 
> first fic on here and all it contains is me being sad on main about soniaki...they're one of my absolute favorite dr pairs, and it's a shame how little content exists out there for them. i wanted to contribute something, so i whipped this up late one night when i was particularly in the mood to lament about them. i tried to wrap it up in a happy-ish manner so it wasn't all tears and suffering, though the tears and suffering are oh so fun to write.
> 
> thank you for reading! ♡


End file.
